SCENE II.

_Enter_ Roderigo.

_Rod._ She is not to be recovered, which I vex at; And he beyond my veng'ance, which torments me; O! I am fool'd and sleighted, made a Rascal; My hopes are flatter'd, as my present fortunes; Why should I wander thus, and play the Coxcomb? Tire out my peace and pleasure for a Girl? A Girl that scorns me too? a thing that hates me? And considered at the best, is but a short Breakfast For a hot appetite: why should I walk and walk thus? And fret my self, and travel like a Carrier, And peep, and watch? want Meat, and Wine, to cherish me, When thousand women may be had, ten thousand, And thank me too, and I sit still: well, trim Beauty And Chastity, and all that seem to ruine me, Let me not take ye, let me not come near ye, For I'll so trim ye, I'll so bustle with ye; 'Tis not the name of Virgin shall redeem ye, I'll change that property: nor tears, nor angers; I bear a hate about me scorns those follies. To find this Villain too, for there's my main prize: And if he snap me then.

_Enter_ Alinda.

_Alind._ Is not that _Pedro_? 'Tis he, 'tis he: O!

_Rod._ What art thou?

_Alind._ Ha? now, now, now, O now most miserable.

_Rod._ What a Devil art thou?

_Alin._ No end of my misfortunes, Heaven?

_Rod._ What antick? Speak Puppet, speak.

_Alind._ That habit to betray me? Ye holy Saints, can ye see this?

_Rod._ It danceth; The Devil in a Fools Coat, is he turn'd Innocent? What mops and mows it makes! heigh! how it frisketh! Is't not a Fairy, or some small Hobgoblin? It has a mortal face, and I have a great mind to it, But if it should prove the Devil then.

_Alin._ Come hither.

_Rod._ I think 'twill ravish me, It is a handsome thing, but horribly Sun-burnt, What's that it points at?

_Alin._ Dost thou see that star there, That just above the Sun? Prithee go thither, and light me this Tobacco, And stop it with the horns o'th' Moon.

_Rod._ The thing's mad, Abominably mad, her brains are butter'd, Go sleep, fool, sleep.

_Alin._ Thou canst not sleep so sweetly; For so I can say my Prayers, and then slumber.

_I am not proud, nor full of Wine,_ _This little Flower will make me fine;_ _Cruel in Heart, for I will cry,_ _If I see a Sparrow dye;_ _I am not watchful to do ill,_ _Nor glorious to pursue it still;_ _Nor pitiless to those that weep;_ _Such as are, bid them go sleep._

Do, do, do, and see if they can.

_Rod._ It said true. I feel it sink into me forcibly: Sure 'tis a kind of _Sibyl_, some mad Prophet; I feel my wildness bound, and fetter'd in me.

_Alin._ Give me your hand, and I'll tell you what's your fortune.

_Rod._ Here, prithee speak.

_Alin._ Fye, fye, fye, fye, fye. Wash your hands, and pare your nails, and look finely, You shall never kiss the Kings Daughter else.

_Rod._ I wash 'em daily.

_Alin._ But still you foul 'em faster.

_Rod._ This goes nearer.

_Alin._ You'll have two Wives.

_Rod._ Two Wives?

_Alin._ I, two fine Gentlewomen, Make much of 'em; for they'll stick close to you, Sir: And these two, in two days.

_Rod._ That's a fine Riddle.

_Alin._ To day you shall wed sorrow, And repentance will come to morrow.

_Rod._ Sure she's inspired.

_Alin._ I'll sing ye a fine Song, Sir,

_He called down his merry men all,_ _By one, by two, by three,_ William _would fain have been the first,_ _But now the last is he_.

_Rod._ This the meer Chronicle of my mishaps.

_Alin._ I'll bid you good ev'n, for my Boat stays for me yonder, And I must sup with the Moon to Night in the _Mediterraneum_. [_Exit._

_Rod._ When fools and mad folks will be Tutors to me, And feel my sores, yet I unsensible; Sure it was set by Providence upon me To steer my heart right, I am wondrous weary, My thoughts too, which add more burthen to me; I have been ill, and (which is worse) pursu'd it, And still run on; I must think better, nobler, And be another thing, or not at all.

_Enter four Pesants._

Still I grow heavier, heavier, Heaven defend me; I'll lye down, and take rest; and goodness guard me.

_1 Pes._ We have 'scaped to day well; certain if the Out-laws Had known we had been stirring, we had paid for't.

_2 Pes._ 'Plague on 'em, they have rob'd me thrice.

_3 Pes._ And me five times:

Beside they made my Daughter one of us too An arrant Drum: O, they are the lewdest Rascals, The Captain such a damn'd piece of iniquitie: But we are far enough off on 'em, that's the best on't, They cannot hear.

_4._ They'le come to me familiarly And eat up all I have: drink up my wine too, And if there be a Servant that contents 'em, Let her keel hold, they'l give her Stowage enough: We have no Children now, but Thieves, and Outlaws. The very Brats in their Mothers bellies have their qualities. They'l steal into the world.

_1._ Would we had some of 'em here.

_2._ I, o' that condition we could Master 'em, They are sturdy knaves.

_3._ A Devil take their sturdiness, We can neither keep our wives from 'em nor our States, We pay the Rent, and they possess the benefit.

_1._ What's this lies here? is it drunk, or sober? It sleeps, and soundly too.

_2._ 'Tis an old woman That keeps sheep hereabouts: it turns, and stretches.

_4._ Do's she keep sheep with a sword?

_3._ It has a Beard too.

_1._ Peace, peace: it is the Devil _Roderigo_, Peace of all hands, and look.

_2._ 'Tis he.

_3._ Speak softly.

_4._ Now we may fit him.

_3._ Stay, stay: let's be provident.

_1._ Kill him, and wake him then.

_4._ Let me come to him, Ev'n one blow at his pate, if e're he wake more.

_3._ So, so, so, lay that by.

_2._ I must needs kill him, It stands with my reputation.

_3._ Stand off, I say: And let us some way make him sure; then torture him. To kill him presently, has no pleasure in't. H'as been tormenting of us, at least this twelve moneth.

_Rod._ Oh me!

_All._ He comes: he comes.

_4._ Has he no Guns about him?

_3._ Softly again: no, no: take that hand easily, And tye it fast there: that to th' other bough there. Fast, fast, and easie lest he wake.

_2._ Have we got ye? This was a benefit we never aim'd at.

_3._ Out with your knives, and let's carve this Cockthief, Daintily carve him.

_2._ I would he had been used thus Ten year agoe; we might have thought we had children.

_3._ O, that Sir _Nicholas_ now our Priest were here, What a sweet Homily would he say over him, For ringing all in, with his wife in the Bell-frey! He would stand up stiffe girt, now pounce him lightly And as he roars, and rages, let's go deeper: Come near: you are dim-ey'd: on with your spectacles.

_Rod._ O, what torments me thus? what slaves, what villains? O spare me, do not murther me.

_3._ We'l but tickle ye, You have tickled us at all points.

_4._ Where are his _Emblemes_?

_Enter_ Pedro.

_Rod._ As ye are men, and _Christians_.

_2._ Yes we hear ye, And you shall hear of us too.

_Rod._ O no mercy.

_Ped._ What noise is this? what roar? I cannot find her, She is got free again: but where, or which way?

_Rod._ O villains, beasts.

_Ped._ Murdering a man, ye Rascals? Ye inhumane slaves, off, off, and leave this cruelty, Or as I am a Gentleman: do ye brave me? Then have among ye all, ye slaves, ye cowards, Take up that sword, and stand: stay ye base rascals, Ye cut-throat rogues.

_All._ Away, away. [_Exeunt_ Pes.

_Ped._ Ye dog-whelps.

_Rod._ O, I am now more wretched far, than ever.

_Ped._ A violence to that habit? ha? _Roderigo_, What makes he here, thus clad? is it repentance, Or only a fair shew to guile his mischiefs?

_Rod._ This benefit has made me shame to see him, To know him, blush.

_Ped._ You are not much hurt?

_Rod._ No Sir; All I can call a hurt, sticks in my conscience, That pricks and tortures me.

_Ped._ Have ye consider'd The nature of these men, and how they us'd ye? Was it fair play? did it appear to you handsom?

_Rod._ I dare not speak: or if I do 'tis nothing Can bring me off, or justifie me.

_Ped._ Was it noble To be o're-laid with odds, and violence? Manly, or brave in these thus to oppress ye? Do you blush at this, in such as are meer rudeness, That have stopt souls, that never knew things gentle? And dare you glorifie worse in your self Sir? Ye us'd me with much honour, and I thank ye, In this I have requited some: ye know me: Come turn not back, ye must, and ye shall know me; Had I been over season'd with base anger, And suited all occasions to my mischiefs, Bore no respect to honesty, Religion, No faith, no common tye of man, humanity, Had I had in me, but given reins, and licence To a tempestuous will, as wild as winter, This day, know _Roderigo_, I had set As small a price upon thy life and fortunes, As thou didst lately on mine innocence; But I reserve thee to a nobler service.

_Rod._ I thank ye, and I'le study more to honour ye: You have the nobler soul, I must confess it, And are the greater Master of your goodness. Though it be impossible I would now recover, And my rude will grow handsom in an instant, Yet touching but the pureness of your metal, Something shall shew like gold, at least shall glister, That men may hope, although the mind be rugged, Stony, and hard to work, yet time, and honour Shall find and bring forth that, that's rich and worthy.

_Ped._ I'le trie that: and toth' purpose: ye told me Sir In noble emulation, so I take it; I'le put your hatred far off, and forget it, You had a fair desire to try my valour: You seem'd to court me to it; you have found a time, A weapon in your hand, an equal enemy, That, as he puts this off, puts off all injuries, And only now for honours sake defies ye: Now, as you are a man, I know you are valiant, As you are gentle bred, a Souldier fashioned.

_Rod._ His vertue startles me. I dare fight _Pedro_.

_Ped._ And as you have a Mistris that you honour, Mark me, a Mistris.

_Rod._ Ha?

_Ped._ A handsome Mistris, As you dare hold your self deserving of her.

_Rod._ Deserving? what a word was that to fire me?

_Ped._ I could compel ye now without this circumstance, But I'le deal free, and fairly, like a Gentleman: As ye are worthy of the name ye carry, A daring man.

_Rod._ O that I durst not suffer: For all I dare do now, implies but penance.

_Ped._ Now do me noble right.

_Rod._ I'll satisfie ye; But not by th' sword, pray you hear me, and allow me; I have been rude; but shall I be a Monster, And teach my Sword to hurt that that preserv'd me? Though I be rough by nature, shall my name Inherit that eternal stain of barbarous? Give me an enemy, a thing that hates ye, That never heard of yet, nor felt your goodness, That is one main antipathy to sweetness; And set me on, you cannot hold me Coward; If I have ever err'd, 'thas been in hazard; The temper of my Sword starts at your Vertue, And will flye off, nay it will weep to light ye; Things excellently mingled, and of pure nature, Hold sacred Love, and peace with one another, See how it turns.

_Ped._ This is a strange Conversion: And can ye fail your Mistriss? can ye grow cold In such a case?

_Rod._ Those heats that they add to us, (O noble _Pedro_) let us feel 'em rightly, And rightly but consider how they move us.

_Ped._ Is not their honour ours?

_Rod._ If they be vertuous, And then the Sword adds nothing to their lustre, But rather calls in question what's not doubted; If they be not, the best Swords, and best valours Can never fight 'em up to fame again; No, not a Christian War, and that's held pious.

_Ped._ How bravely now he is tempered! I must fight, And rather make it honourable, than angry, I would not task those sins to me committed.

_Rod._ You cannot, Sir, you have cast those by: discarded 'em, And in a noble mind, so low, and loosely To look back, and collect such lumps, and lick 'em Into new horrid forms again--

_Ped._ Still braver.

_Rod._ To fight, because I dare, were worse and weaker Than if I had a woman in my cause, Sir, And more proclaim'd me fool: yet I must confess I have been covetous of all occasions, And this I have taken upon trust, for noble, The more shame mine: devise a way to fight thus, That like the wounded air, no bloud may issue, Nor where the Sword shall enter, no lost spirit, And set me on: 1 would not scare that body, That vertuous, valiant body, nor deface it To make the Kingdom mine: if one must bleed, Let me be both the Sacrifice and Altar, And you the Priest; I have deserv'd to suffer.

_Ped._ The noble _Roderigo_, now I call ye, And thus my love shall ever count, and hold ye.

_Rod._ I am your servant, Sir, and now this habit, Devotion, not distrust shall put upon me, I'll wait upon your fortunes, that's my way now, And where you grieve, or joy, I'll be a Partner.

_Ped._ I thank ye, Sir, I shall be too proud of ye, O I could tell ye strange things.

_Rod._ I guess at 'em, And I could curse my self, I made 'em stranger; Yet my mind says you are not far from happiness.

_Ped._ It shall be welcome; come, let's keep up thus still, And be as we appear; Heavens hand may bless us. [_Exeunt._